Markwildyr.com, Post #186
Once again, the perspicacious among you will note that I skipped from Post 159 to Post 186. That’s what the site tells me the number should be. I didn’t start numbering the posts early on, so that’s likely the reason for the discrepancy.
Well, last post, Gabacho was beginning to feel like a piece of meat two dogs were fighting over. But our intrepid hero can handle himself. Let’s see how he does it.
* * * * *
GABACHO
The next day, I watched Reina
make her way across a broad pasture making straight for me and Slick. I’d been
riding fences and come to a place that needed repair. Ignoring the approaching
rider, I dismounted and started mending a broken strand of wire. In a few
minutes, Reina pawed the ground, and Carla slipped from a fancy, silver-trimmed
saddle to stand right beside me.
“Gabacho.”
“Hola, Carla. Out for a
ride?”
“Out looking for you.”
“Me? Why?”
“I want you to take me to a
dance tonight.”
“Tempting as that might be, I
can’t,” I said.
“Why not?”
“I’m committed to sitting on
my ass on a little stool while your brother swipes paint on a canvas.”
“He can wait.” She moved
closer… closer than she should have and looked up into my eyes. “Blue,” she
murmured. “Blue like the sky.”
“My eyes? Uh yeah, I guess”
Then she took me by surprise
by stretching up to give me a kiss.”
I forgot I was dirty and
sweaty from a day’s work and enfolded her in my arms. I had to admit, I felt
that kiss right down in my stones. I pulled her closer, but she squirmed away.
“Maybe that will change your
mind.”
I swallowed hard a couple of
times before reluctantly squeezing the next words out of my voice box. “Wish I could,
but I’m a man of my word. When Carlos finishes the painting, I’ll go wherever
you want.”
She lifted her head and glared
at me. “One time offer. Tonight or forget it.”
“Carla, I wish I could. But—”
She didn’t wait for me to
finish. Carla mounted Reina, swept me with a haughty glance—lingering a moment
on my fly—before galloping across the big pasture, leaving me standing there
with a groin a lot fuller than when she arrived.
****
I wasn’t in a very good mood
when I entered Carlos’s studio that evening. I glanced at the canvas on his
easel, but it was covered.
Carlos noticed and put a
teasing lilt to his voice. “You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”
I stomped over to the stool.
“Let’s get this over with.”
“What put you in a high
mettle?”
Geez, both of them—brother and
sister—spoke better English than I did. And that dug a little bit too. “You’re
interfering with my social life,” I snapped.
“Aha! Carla’s made her move.”
I hadn’t heard anyone say
“Aha” since I was in short pants. “Whatever.” I plopped down on the high stool.
“Not that way,” he said,
moving over to position my boots the way he wanted. “And the shirt—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, ripping
it off.
He put a hand on my chest.
“You have the most interesting pectorals,” he said. “As soon as I saw them
half-covered by your vest, I knew I wanted to paint you.” He gave a laugh. “Of
course, that brown, curly hair and those blue, blue eyes, and that narrow nose
contributed.”
“Come on, stop yapping and get
to painting.”
“Wait a minute. What’s that on
your cheek?”
I started to feel my cheek,
but he brushed my hand away and moved in for a closer look, His finger rubbing
me right below my left eye.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“Just a speck of something.
It’s gone now.”
Then he took me by surprise. I
froze as he came closer. He paused a moment go gaze into my eyes before placing
his lips against mine. I don’t think I intended to do it, but my mouth opened,
and Carlos invaded me with his tongue. So help me, His kiss grabbed me
by the innards too I felt myself stir even before he placed his hand over my
groin. A sudden image of old man Salvador galvanized me. I pushed him away.
“What’re you doing?” I asked,
brushing my lips with the back of my hand.
“What I’ve wanted to ever
since I saw you naked on the banks of the Rio Grande. You’re muy macho, Gabacho.
But you already know that. The door is locked, amigo. We can do whatever we
want.”
“And you don’t think Carla has
a key?”
He frowned before his smile
returned, making him as handsome as his sister. “That would be her problem.”
“Carlos, pickup your paint
brush, or else I’m leaving.”
“Okay, okay. Another time,
no?”
“No,” I said, without any
oomph behind it. I couldn’t help but notice he had a semi-erection as he sent
about his work. What had he said? You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.
Hell, he’d already seen mine. I was tempted to remind him, but that would just
start things all over again. My lips tingled… just as they had after Carla
kissed me in the pasture.
****
Over the next week, Bartolome,
the foreman of the Salvador spread started to ride my ass, sometimes with
cause, sometimes without. He was a formidable forty-or-so muscular man who’d
probably been someone’s dreamboat a few years back. He’d been even handed up
until then, so he or Don Guillermo must figure I’m getting too cozy with the
kiddos. That made me think my spell here on the ranch was limited. So it was
time to make a move or move on… probably both.
Carla had stopped acting
frosty was soon as my posing days with her brother drew to a close. Only then
did Carlos allow me to see the portrait he’d painted. In fact, Carla and I both
saw it at the same time after Carlos invited us to the studio.
I was shocked—pleasantly
so—when he unveiled the painting. There I sat. No question about it. Gary
Hawthorne—Gabacho— perched there on the stool looking just like the one
standing in front of the painting gawking.
“Bueno, Carlos,” Carla
said. “You captured him.”
I silently agreed, although
the crotch looked a little fuller than it was. I couldn’t help but glance down.
Well, maybe not. Both of them caught me in the act and laughed aloud.
“Oh, no, Gabacho,” Carlos
said. “I paint ‘em like I see ‘em. Don’t make them look better or look worse.”
My cheeks flamed, and I got
out of there in a hurry.
After chow, I lay in my bunk
and did some cogitating. I glanced at the vaqueros joshing back and forth among themselves
and realized I was comfortable at the ranch. Nonetheless, my time here was
about to run out. Had I been away long enough for the dustup north of the Rio
Grande to die down? Yeah. Probably.
A minute later, I knocked on
Bartolome’s door—he was the only one with a private room in the bunkhouse—and
gave notice. I saw in his black eyes that he understood, and he settled up with
me—in dollar bills—and approved my taking off without waiting for a
replacement. After that, I packed the few belongings I’d brought with me and
stowed them behind the saddle on Slick. Once outside of the yard, I pulled up
and took out my cell phone. After dialing a number, I waited for an answer.
When it came, I said, “Line shack Number 1. One hour.” I hung up, stripped off
my shirt, donned my vest, and put Slick in a slow walk to the west.
I figured I’d arrive first,
but when the shack came into view, one of the ranch’s Jeeps was already parked
beside the door. I dismounted beside the vehicle and stepped through the door.
I didn’t have any doubts about
my decision. Hell, I could always find a woman, but when was I gonna find a guy
as pretty as a woman and as willing as Carlos Pablo Salvador y Bachicha?
* * * *
I guess you can’t
fault Gabacho’s logic, but which of the twins would you have chosen?
My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
Email:
markwildyr@aol.com
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Twitter: @markwildyr
Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
See you later.
Mark
New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.
